


There are Different Kinds of Monsters

by orphan_account



Series: The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Crazy Harry, Dumbeldore Bashing, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Harry is an angry murder child, He does have two extra voices in his head, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Powerful Harry, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, i mean..., obscurus harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It would take many years for Albus Dumbledore to realize that he had made a mistake in placing Harry Potter with the Dursleys, and it would take even longer for him to realize just how huge a mistake he had made. He had expected some neglect, perhaps, but that would only serve to make him mouldable and easier to make serve his purpose. He was wrong, and Harry would make him pay for it.They would all pay.





	1. Prologue: The Damage is Done

**Author's Note:**

> 'Italics' = Thoughts  
> "Italics" = Horcrux Speaking  
> "Bold Italics" = Obscurus Speaking  
> "~Italics~" = Parseltongue

Perhaps it was irony that, so soon after doing the impossible and surviving Voldemort, young Harry Potter would be left in one of the few places that could have possibly been worse than such a fate. For, despite the fact that many witches and wizards were celebrating the death of a madman, Harry Potter’s wellbeing was hardly their concern. They lauded the babe as a hero, surely nothing could possibly hurt him. Besides, Albus Dumbledore was the one to place him somewhere safe, and as a fellow hero the world felt that he surely knew what was best. They were all so very, horribly wrong.

Growing up, Freak knew that he had a very specific place in the world. By the time he was three, Freak learned to never cry, no matter how much he hurt. At age five, Freak learned that, like being without pain, food was a privilege. When Freak started school, he learned that no matter what he had to do worse than his cousin. Freaks couldn’t do better than good, normal people. He knew that most children didn’t live like him. They didn’t have cupboards and do all the cooking and cleaning and gardening. They played games and smiled and were loved. But, then again, Freak knew that he wasn’t a good child and so he didn’t deserve the things that good children had.

When he was younger, Freak didn’t understand why others called him Harry. Aunt Petunia told him that others couldn’t find out just how much of a freak he was, and he certainly didn’t want to reflect badly on the people who had taken a monster like him in out of the kindness of their hearts. So he would listen to the teachers when they called him Harry, but he knew that his name was really Freak. He had tried to insist he was Harry after his first day of primary, but now he knew better. Uncle Vernon had been furious, and he had hurt Freak in a way that he had never hurt before. Freak would later learn that his uncle had raped him, though he still wouldn’t realize that this wasn’t normal treatment for years and years to come. After all, Aunt Petunia didn’t seem to discourage his punishment either. It was normal. Just like everything else that his good, kind relatives did.

Freak was often called stupid by his relatives, but he privately knew that, at least in this, they were not correct. He learned very quickly that while he would always be punished, it would be far, far worse should he cause something… strange to happen preceding it.  Times like when he wound up on the school roof when the kids played Harry Hunting or when he turned his teacher’s wig blue when he got really angry at him. So slowly, methodically, Freak began to lock it away. Surely, if he did his best to get rid of his freakishness he would be able to be a good boy, like Dudley. Surely he’d be able to maybe, just maybe, become Harry for real. But Freak learned that it simply wasn’t to be. No matter how much he locked away, and lock it away he did, he never did those freaky things anymore, even when he was really afraid, he would always be Freak. He would always be a servant to the Dursleys; he acknowledged that at eight years old. And as he started to learn about history and slavery in school he started to hate them, just a tiny bit.  

As he grew older, Fre- no, Harry, he knows that he was meant to be Harry now, had a harder time keeping that freakishness of his locked away. There were nights in his cupboard when he was angry and afraid and he would just… start smoking. He didn’t dream of people whisking him away and seeing him as a good boy anymore. He dreamed of death and revenge, and sometimes it scared him just how badly he wanted to see it. Harry knew he had lost the fight against his relatives that night. He wanted to see them bleed, and he knew that one day, one way or another, maybe when they didn’t have so much control over him, he would get his wish. Harry would kill them, even if it was the very last thing he did. He didn’t fail to acknowledge that it very well could be. The entire neighborhood already thought him a monster and criminal. And if he couldn’t prove them wrong, and he had tried, how he had tried, then he would just have to live up to his reputation, instead.

Perhaps, if Dumbledore had truly checked up on young Harry Potter as he grew up, as he assured the wizarding world that he did, he would have noticed something before it was too late. Maybe, if Arabella Figg saw more than her cats and didn’t, at least a little bit, resent the magical world for denying the place of squibs in it, she would have noticed the light dying in Harry Potter’s eyes. But no one noticed, and that truly spelled the end for the reign of the light. After all, Harry was a very powerful young boy. Powerful enough to survive much longer than most Obscurials. And besides, parasite it may be… Harry’s Obscurus didn’t want to hurt him. As a matter of fact, there was enough magic of Harry’s dedicated to keeping its host alive at all costs that his Obscurus seemed to know just when it absolutely couldn’t risk letting itself loose to protect its host.

Obscurials are very rare and unstudied parts of the magical world. How were they to know that the very nature of the Obscurus could be, not destroyed, but tempered by the existence of a horcrux? After all, a horcrux is something made very specifically to defy death, and for all that young Harry was a living host, his horcrux wasn’t going to let him die any time soon. So yes, Albus Dumbledore made a huge mistake, and if he had a strange sense of foreboding that maybe Harry hadn’t been treated very well when he sent Hagrid to pick him up after so many letters were unanswered, well, no one else would have to know.


	2. The Damning Truth

The morning of his eleventh birthday was far stranger than usual. Harry was used to being completely ignored, but the fact that they were hiding out in a shack on some tiny island in the middle of the ocean was definitely not the Dursley’s definition of normal. _“I’m telling you Harry, they are afraid of you. Those letters of yours prove that you’re smarter and stronger than them. We’ve got to get to Hogwarts.”_ ‘ _Shut up, Tom.’_ “ ** _Kill… them. Go… free._** ” _‘You aren’t helping either, Shade! I’ll get them eventually, but right now we don’t have anywhere else to go… Even if we did make it to Hogwarts they’d expect me to go home for the summers. They didn’t help Tom, so what are the odds that they’ll help a freak like me?’_

Sure, deep down he hoped that he didn’t just make up his friends that live in his head. And that, maybe they were telling him the truth. Tom always told him stories about people who have magic, and Shade… well they were a more fragmented sort of person. They always tried to protect him though, and they even learned that interfering with his punishments just made them worse. Tom helped to explain to Shade that it is important that they keep Harry safe, and that anything that just alleviates the pain temporarily does them no good if they wind up infuriating Harry’s relatives so much that they will be hurt worse later. Shade tried to fight Tom on it at first, but they always kept a close watch on their host. It didn’t take long to realize that it would always hurt worse. Many magical folk will say that an Obscurus is nothing but a purely destructive force, and previous to finding himself inside the head of a young Potter with one, Tom had thought that the truth as well. And perhaps it was for many people, maybe Harry Potter was just the outlier, as he is for many other things. That doesn’t stop Tom from being very glad that Shade began to use its energy to heal the broken bones and bruises of the body he inhabits alongside them. He would never admit that he was growing fond of the boy that defeated his main body aloud, but Tom knew he was. They were very similar in some ways, and Harry was more broken in others. Tom knew that Harry loved to read when he could get away with being in the library, which really wasn’t often. He loved learning for the sake of learning, and also for the chance that anything he learned could help him later. But, for all that Tom suffered all those years ago in the orphanage… They never hurt him like Harry’s uncle did. Exorcisms didn’t seem so bad after all, not after living through and helplessly watching Harry be taken advantage of over and over again. He doubts that they’ll be able to talk any sense into his main self, but he hopes that, at least for Harry’s sake, Lord Voldemort will kill them quickly. Harry had lived through enough torture already.

Harry started when the regular thunder from the stormy night became a repetitive banging on the door of the shack. He tunes out much of the shouting of the, quite literal according to Tom, giant and only reacts with at all when he gets angry and gives his cousin a pig’s tail. _‘Oh yes, it is so very clever to anger people who are quite obviously abusing your self-acclaimed boy wonder. The Boy-Who-Lived, honestly! What is it with magical folk and their absurdly large amounts of hyphens?’_

Harry follows Hagrid out of the shack, but the only thing that he can really focus on was the fact that he said he personally knew him. “Hagrid? You said the last time that you saw me I fit in your hand… When was that?”

“Well, I was the one who took you to your relatives, Dumbledore’s orders!” If Hagrid had turned to face Harry instead of continuing to use his umbrella to propel their boat faster, he would have seen an instant change in his appearance. Eyes that once held a simple curiosity in regards to this strange giant became glacial and fury broiled under the surface. This man was the one who brought him to the Dursleys. When he looked up, Harry had to fight to keep a smile off of his face.

 _‘Hey, Tom? Do you know the way to this Diagon Alley?’ “Of course I do. I can lead us there.”_ This was the perfect moment he had been waiting for. It just required a bit of patience and maneuvering. When the boat reached the land, his plan went into action.

“Hagrid, sir? I know they can be a bit rude, but I think you just startled them. We can’t leave them stranded on that island with no way off!” Hagrid seemed abashed by that simple statement. _'Honestly it's common sense to ensure that you don't treat others so callously.'_

“Oh! O’ course ‘arry! I’ll be back in a jiffy.” So he waited for them, and as soon as he saw the boat with four, grudging people in it, his face lit up with a smile. Later that night, locals would hear the tragic story of how four people drowned crossing the ocean due to a dark, fierce storm. None of them realized that not even a single drop of rain had fallen in this “storm”.  

Harry felt Shade absolutely _humming_ under his skin. He knew that it was his magic now, but Shade is sentient and they’ve always looked out for him. It would be wrong to stop calling them by their name. Tom, not his Tom but the bartender for the entrance to Diagon Alley, showed Harry how to enter so he smiled and thanked him. After the fiasco with Hagrid pointing out his scar and what it meant to people in that shack, Harry was suddenly very grateful for having such long hair and made sure to keep it hiding the scar. It was a bit less of a mess than it used to be when it was short, but his shoulder-length hair was still a bit curly. Honestly, if he really needed a good disguise, Harry knew that he could pass for a girl if necessary. He had many softer features that made his gender hard to tell at a glance. Harry wouldn’t change it for a thing, though. The dark, curly hair that he could hide behind reminds him of Shade’s comforting caresses in his old cupboard. _‘Not that I’ll ever have to go back, now. What a horrid, tragic accident they and Hagrid got into.’_ “ ** _Good… Kill… Won’t hurt… Again._** ” _“For once, Shade is correct. It was the perfect way to deal with our current living situation problem and one of the people responsible for putting us there in the first place. Not to mention how untraceable the kill was.”_ He didn’t think that he would be so smug about his first, finally, kill, but Harry could not help being proud of himself. It helped that Tom and Shade were proud of him too, but more than anything, he was just grateful that he would never, ever have to spend another day at the Dursleys.

 _“Your first stop should be Gringotts. You don’t have your key, but a blood test will set you up just the same.”_ So the threesome, assumed singular person make their way to the unmistakable building. They waited in the slow moving lines, and couldn’t help but to draw some amusement from the goblins being deliberately slow with many rude customers. _“Don’t forget the proper goblin greetings that I told you about, Harry.”_

“Next!” Harry walks forward and gives a bow. “May your gold flow like the blood of your enemies.” The teller seems surprised for a moment, but responds in turn. “And may your gold grow as your prowess does the same. What can we do for you today?”

“I have recently learned that my parents left accounts for me here, but I have no way of accessing it for my school things. I was recommended to get a blood test.” The goblin raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say a word against it. “Very well, follow me.”  

Harry and the goblin, he really should ask his name soon, walk into a private room. “I must admit to being surprised, Mr. Potter. I would have assumed that your magical guardian would have given you a key, at the very least before you came to Diagon Alley.” “What… What is a magical guardian, sir…?” Tom had explained it to Harry before, but Harry had no idea who his was, so it was best to act completely ignorant in this case.

“A magical guardian is someone who is responsible for either a muggleborn once they enter the wizarding world or an orphan if they stay with a muggle family. They are essentially your link into the magical world. The fact that you don’t know this is criminal, Mr. Potter, especially given that your guardian has been making purchases out of your account that were supposedly for your benefit. My name is Griphook, and I would most definitely recommend that blood test.”

“Thank you, sir Griphook. I would like to do so.” Griphook pulls out a piece of parchment and knife to Harry. “Three drops on the parchment, Mr. Potter.” And so he cuts his finger, unaware of the fact that his world is about to turn upside down.

**_Hadrian James Potter_ **

_Age: 11_

_Born: July 31 st, 1980_

_Status: Pureblood_

_Mother: Lillian Rose Potter nee Burke (Adopted name Evans)_

_Father: James Charlus Potter, Sirius Black (blood adoption)_

_Godparents: Sirius Black, Alice Longbottom nee Abbott_

_Magical Guardian: Albus Dumbledore (illegal)_

_Heirships: Paternal: Potter, Peverell, Black, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Maternal: Burke, Pendragon, and Ravenclaw._

_Magical Abilities:_

  * _Natural Animagus_
  * _Necromancy_
  * _Metamorphmagus_
  * _Fire Elemental_
  * _Parseltongue_
  * _Skill in the Dark Arts_
  * _Natural Swordsmanship_
  * _Eidetic Memory_



_Magical Anomalies:_

  * _Tom Marvolo Riddle’s Horcrux (100% Assimilated)_
  * _Obscurus_
  * _Mental Block 50% (25% Broken) by Albus Dumbledore_
  * _Core Block 80% (10% Broken) by Albus Dumbledore_



Both Harry and Griphook are silent for a few moments. “We need to get those blocks off of you, Mr. Potter.” Griphook is obviously reeling more over the fact that he is an Obscurial, but doesn’t comment on it.

“He must have done that when I was a baby. He certainly hasn’t seen me since.” The pain caused by removing the blocks is minimal, a fact that seems to both surprise and sadden Griphook. _‘I guess that it would hurt most people, but given that I almost only know hurt… It just tingled a bit. A slight sting, like carpet burn or something.’_

“Would you like to claim your heirship rings, Mr. Potter? Now that there are no magical blocks interfering with your core, they are less likely to react poorly.” Seeing the concern on his face, Griphook quickly continues. “You will be able to make them visible or invisible at whim. No one else will be able to see them unless you so desire. I would recommend hiding all of them besides the Potter heirship, seeing as the entire wizarding world knows about that one already.” Harry nods.

“That works, Sir Griphook. I thank you for your assistance.” Every ring, surprisingly enough, accepts him as the family’s heir. “Is there a way to access my funds without going to the vaults? I assume that I’ll be primarily using the Potter trust vault, but if I need a purchase that can’t so much be traced… Ravenclaw, perhaps? I cannot guarantee that Dumbledore doesn’t know about my father’s past lordships, but everyone thought that my mother was muggleborn. It would also be better if the goblins could maybe just call me by Heir Potter? That way there is no risk of leaking the information due to others being in the lobby.” Tom had told him as much.

“We have both pouches that can be linked to a certain account and a card that can be used for any of them. The pouch is 10 Galleons and the card is 40, both can only be used by the owner.” “I’ll get one of each. Everyone would probably expect me to use the pouch, obviously connected to the Potter vault, and the card can be hidden inside of it.” Griphook nods and brings both out. “We can take the 50 Galleons out of Ravenclaw’s vault. Have a good day, Heir Potter.”

Harry was able to go through the rest of the day in Diagon Alley with very little fuss. He kept his presence on the down low and only strayed from the requirements on the list for better ingredients than the student’s potion set came with, more robes and clothes seeing as he wouldn’t be wearing rags ever again, more books than strictly necessary, and his new familiars. Tom had told him about the familiar bond, the light feeling for both wizard and familiar, and the faint, glowing light that would surround them both. So when this happened in the Eeylops Owl Emporium with Hedwig, Harry wasn’t particularly surprised. He was a bit more shocked by the fact that a male black mamba had the exact same reaction to him in the Magical Menagerie that he only visited to get supplies for Hedwig in the first place. He named him Adonis and took both familiars with him to his very last stop, Ollivanders.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I’ve been expecting you. You are quite different from what most are expecting, you know?” The way that the wand maker stared at Harry was frankly unnerving. It was like he was peering into his very soul.

“Perhaps they should know better than to expect something of a person they have never met or cared for before now.” Ollivander gives him a piercing look and a sad smile. “Indeed, they should. Given just how powerful you are, it is obvious that you will be needing a custom wand. Follow me.” The wand maker was a bit strange, sure, but he did seem to know what he was doing. So when Harry allowed his hand to hover over the individual wand components and feel them out, he was grateful that Ollivander didn’t even seem to find it all that strange that he had such a very complex wand. “Beech, Blackthorn, and Yew wood. Very strange, Mr. Potter, but perhaps expected. You undoubtedly suit Beech, but your magic itself is heavily enamored with Blackthorn and Yew… Well, it is not as surprising as perhaps others may think. Cores next, then.” The process repeated and landed him with a dragon heartstring and Horned Serpent horn core. An hour later Harry was presented with his wand, 11 ¾ inches and rather rigid. He spent the next month in the Leaky Cauldron, reading and adding to his immense book collection as he did so. He would not let anyone catch him off guard, and Harry was loathe to be anything like these ignorant witches and wizards expected him to be.


	3. Reactions

On the morning of September 1st Harry, Shade, Tom, Hedwig, and Adonis made their way to platform 9 ¾. It took nearly no time at all to hear and see a large red-headed family discussing the magical platform, as if there _weren’t_ a bunch of muggles everywhere. _‘Honestly, if this doesn’t scream a set up. How stupid do they think I am?’ “Well, to be fair Hagrid wasn’t likely to tell you how to get to the train even if you hadn’t killed him. Dumbledore planned this; I’m sure. According to the supposed non-fiction about you, everyone expects you to look just like your father with your mother’s eyes. Honestly, seeing as the only thing you really have from your father is hair color and poor eyesight, which could just as easily be attributed to the muggles, and said glasses are square frames, you hardly look as they’d expect you to. Just don’t show any hesitation and go past them. It will be quite amusing to watch them flounder and nearly be late for the train when you do not show yourself to them.”_

Harry does just so, not allowing himself to pause while passing through. That way he would come off as just a muggleborn passing through the barrier and bring no suspicion to himself to this very obviously staged scene. _“Honestly, even if they are waiting for their supposed hero Harry Potter you would think that they know better than to discuss Hogwarts and muggles on the muggle side of the station. They should at least have some Obliviators around for the inevitable muggles that hear about the magical world and think more of it than a literally insane family. Which they arguably are for going along with such a stupid plan. How much do you want to bet that they’re Gryffindors?” ‘I don’t take sucker’s bets, Tom. I may suspect my being a Ravenclaw, but I’m Slytherin enough to know that they are at the very least a predominantly Gryffindor family and that it would be stupid to think anything but.’_

Harry manages to find an empty compartment and pulls out one of the supplemental texts for making potions. He quickly realized that the base textbooks didn’t cover precisely how one prepared the ingredients, the importance of which material your stirring rod or cauldron was made of, or how to correct mistakes in a potion, as even experts were bound to do at some point. Seeing this problem as universal across all subjects, Harry stocked up on as many novels and variations of equipment that he would need. He bought one of the most expensive and secure trunks on the market so that he would have the necessary space for all of his belongings to fit in hit trunk and be able to shrink and un-shrink it with a tap of his wand.  Roughly half an hour later Harry smirks as the group of red-heads rush onto the train right before it leaves them behind.

The majority of the train ride is silent, his peace only being interrupted by a bushy haired girl looking for a boy named Neville’s toad. Harry just smiled indulgently, summoned him after receiving the name from the girl, and sent her on her way with Trevor. She wound up coming back with Neville and introduced herself as Hermione. “My name is Hadrian. Have you read about the house system?” Hermione smiles and nods.

“Oh yes! The system seems very interesting, and I do have to wonder exactly how they sort us. I’ll probably be a Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor sounds nice too.” Harry chuckles at her obvious enthusiasm.

“Honestly, I’ll probably be a Ravenclaw too. It’d be nice to have a friend there. If I was in another house, it would probably be Slytherin.” Neville sighs. It is obvious that the young boy has a lot of pressure on him to live up to expectations from the way he walks and shies away from interactions.  _'I'll have to keep an eye on him. He could just be shy, but he shows signs of at least emotional abuse and neglect.'_

“Gran wants me to be a Gryffindor like my mom and dad, but I just don’t think I can be. I’m probably more of a Hufflepuff.” Harry sighs and shakes his head. He would definitely be having a little  _talk_ with Neville's Gran at some point. It was obvious that his self-esteem was being destroyed by her.

“Don’t let her try to change who you are, Neville. There is nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff. Loyalty and hard work are incredibly admirable traits, and people are stupid to underestimate them.” It didn’t take Harry long to notice that both of them were eating out of the palm of his hands. Neville seemed to have extreme self-confidence problems and Hermione lit up the instant he called her a friend. People this loyal to him would undoubtedly be useful later, no matter the fact that he genuinely wanted to have a couple of people close to him. “Let’s promise that no matter what we all stay friends, okay? These house rivalries are ridiculous, so even if I _do_ wind up in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw and you both end up in Gryffindor… Why does that mean we’d have to stop being friends?” Hermione and Neville smile before crying out “I promise!” at the same time. _“Well done, Hadrian. You’ve yet to even enter Hogwarts and you’ve already started building your Inner Circle.”_

An older, female professor who introduced herself as McGonagall led the students through the path, on the boats, and to Hogwarts itself. _‘Wow… You weren’t kidding, Tom. This place is stunning. It truly does feel like… well, magic.’_ When they entered the castle, Harry felt the happy hum of magic surrounding him, and only stopped basking within it once McGonagall began to speak. “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

“I heard that Harry Potter is supposed to be joining us this year. I can’t wait for him to be sorted into Gryffindor! We’re going to be _best_ friends.” Harry, Hermione, and Neville snicker softly. “Oh yeah? What makes you think that Harry Potter will be in Gryffindor?” Harry was rather eager to hear why people seemed to think that they knew him based off of hearsay, rumors, and his parents.

“Dumbledore said so! I mean, both of his parents were in Gryffindor, so where else would he be?” Harry snorts. “Harry Potter would be better off in literally any other house. Everyone knows that Gryffindor is the house of foolish, leap before you think, children with hero complexes.” The younger red headed boy from earlier flushes a horrid shade of red that clashes with his hair. “And who are you to decide that, huh!?” McGonagall comes back in at that moment, but not before he lowly mutters “Harry Potter, obviously.” and observes the boy grow even redder.

There are very few interruptions after that, and none of them before the Sorting were important by any means. It began with an “Abbot, Hannah!” “HUFFLEPUFF!” and continued on until it got to Hermione, as the first of the group. “Granger, Hermione!” “RAVENCLAW!” “Longbottom, Neville!” “HUFFLEPUFF!” The sorting continued on, but all went silent when the name “Potter, Harry!” was called. He walks up to the hat and settles down, smirking all the while. _“Oh you poor child. We have failed you.” ‘There’s no need to worry. Tom and Shade take care of me. What is your name, Mr. Hat?’ “My name is Alistair, Harry. Now, you would be a boon to any house, and only Gryffindor truly doesn’t suit you. However, your loyalty is too select to be a Hufflepuff, and you are correct in worrying that Slytherin would draw undue attention to yourself, even though that line of reasoning in itself is Slytherin. It’s better for you to be safe, so let’s go with…”_ “RAVENCLAW!” The cheering from the blue and bronze table is deafening, and Harry is determined to ignore it while sitting next to Hermione. “Weasley, Ron!” “GRYFFINDOR!” Harry snickers. _‘I guess I know what family I need to avoid, then. I’m no fool, and hopefully my sorting will help them realize that. It would be very boring if they truly expected me to be dumb enough to fall for such blatantly obvious setups.’_

Harry glances around at the professors, and finds it very amusing that Dumbledore seems to be so frustrated with his sorting. The man with shoulder-length black hair seems slightly less furious at the very sight of him; it is almost as if his sorting gave him some sort of pause for contemplation. The true surprise of the professors, though is the man wearing the turban. _“Hadrian… I sense another piece of me in him. It’s not the same as you though. Perhaps a possession? I don’t think that he’s a horcrux at all… That man is allowing the spirit form of my main body to possess him!”_


	4. A Most Unexpected "Welcome"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for updating so slowly. Despite it being summer break, I am almost more likely to upload on a regular schedule during the school year. Much of summer involves doing things to appease my family, and I have far less free time than one would hope for.

At first, Harry was surprised that such a curious group of individuals didn’t immediately set out to question him on the truths and falsehoods of what was said about him by witches, wizards, and the novels themselves. When he realizes that it was because Dumbledore himself sanctioned those books as the truth of Harry’s childhood, one filled with love and training to hone his magic, Harry scoffs and finds himself disappointed in the house of eagles that supposedly are the most intelligent of the lot. ‘ _Anyone who trusts the word of a single person so much is a fool, no matter how book smart they may be’_

Neither Shade nor Tom had to comment aloud for Harry to know that they strongly agreed with him. Tom loathed Dumbledore from his time as a student already, and Shade was furious with him for letting his host be hurt so badly and then _lying_ about keeping up with and taking care of him. “ ** _We’ll… kill… eventually…_** ” ‘ _Indeed… Perhaps we should talk to Professor Quirrell in private at some point. We may be able to negotiate a deal with my main self when he is so weakened and is in need of help desperately enough to rely on possessing an unmarked supporter.’_

Harry had to agree that it would be the smartest action, and wasn’t at all surprised when he was called up to the Headmaster’s office the day directly after his sorting. “Hello my dear boy, lemon drop?”

“No thank you, sir. Did you need something from me? I’ve been enjoying the Ravenclaw library to its fullest extent before classes start on Monday.” He knew that he needed to act subservient and innocent to fool Dumbledore, and played the part of a rather shy boy to prevent having to make eye contact and revealing his strong mental barriers.

Dumbledore chuckles and gives him a smile. “I see the hat truly placed you in the house that suits you best, Mr. Potter. I simply wanted to ask you about Hagrid, as he was sent to pick you up and our gamekeeper has yet to come back.”

At this point, Harry allows false tears to well up in his eyes. “It’s all my fault, sir… Hagrid came to pick me up and used the only boat available to take me back, and I couldn’t let him leave them stranded on an island without even magic to help them get off. I didn’t realize that the storm was so close, and with Hagrid, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley all in the boat -Aunt Petunia hardly weighed anything, so I doubt she was the problem- the storm capsized it. I wondered around the area of London Hagrid told me that the Leaky Cauldron was in until I found it, but I think they all drowned… I couldn’t bear to watch and ran. Now I have nowhere left to go, and because of me four people are at least hurt and washed ashore elsewhere, or at worst dead…”

The grief on Dumbledore’s face was real enough in appearance, but the true test was scanning his surface thoughts. _‘Well, that is a rather large inconvenience. Hagrid was one of my most loyal, and I needed the Dursley’s to keep him beaten down and submissive. The fact that he isn’t in Gryffindor is bad enough, but it does seem to have been a freak accident. Perhaps the trauma will temper him to deal with future losses.’_

“Very well, my boy. You could not have done anything to help them, and you were being kind to your relatives so it is not entirely your fault. I would have sent someone more qualified if I had realized you would be in a dangerous place to gain access to. Rest well, my boy.”

_“You’ve got to admire his casual guilt trips, huh Hadrian? Dumbledore is as manipulative as any Slytherin, but in all the worst ways.” ‘Indeed he is, but at least he is not as intelligent as one, or he would have been a tiny bit suspicious at how convenient it was for me that my abusers and the man who delivered me to them all happened to die at once, while in my direct sphere of influence.’ “Indeed, he is a fool to not suspect in the slightest. That will only work in our advantage, though.”_

The rest of Saturday and Sunday was spent reading up on the Hogwarts friendly curriculum, no matter the fact of how outdated half of the information was. Harry knew that he would have to blend in to a certain extent, but at least as a Ravenclaw he was expected to be intelligent and could strive towards all O’s.

On Monday, Harry was able to pass through Charms and Herbology with little incident. He was more adept in actually casting the spells than one would expect in charms, but seeing as Flitwick was his Head of House, Harry had few concerns about that. Professor Sprout was surprised by Harry’s familiarity in working with plants, but Harry explained that away with saying that he liked to garden at his relatives house. It wasn’t false, either. Despite how hot it could get out in the garden, it was one of Harry’s favorite places to be. He got to be free of the Dursleys for a little while, and could drink water out of the hose to stay hydrated.

When he went to Potions after his lunch period was when things got complex. Professor Snape was going down the roll call when he paused on Harry’s name. “Ah, yes. Harry Potter… Our resident celebrity…” The look in his eyes make his fellow Ravenclaws weary, and the Hufflepuff side of the room looks like they want to cry. Neville looks indignant on Harry’s behalf, and Hermione looked surprised that a teacher would speak so disdainfully about a student.

“Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Harry knew the literal answer to that question, but also knew the true meaning of what he seemed to be saying. “A sleeping draught so powerful that it is called the Draught of Living Death, sir.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed that a Ravenclaw bothered to open his book before coming to class? Tell me Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” Harry nearly snorted at his simplicity. “If you needed one urgently, then I would grab a standard potion’s kit, as any potions master worth his salt has several on him at all times. If you want one fresh, then you would find it in the stomach of a goat. A bezoar can save you from nearly any, but not quite all, poisons.”

“So you do have a modicum of intelligence as your house suggests. Then what, Potter, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Another easy question that he knew the answer to, despite it being in the third year curriculum. “They are the same plant, sir. Monkshood also goes by the name of aconite, and its third namesake, wolfsbane, is due to the fact that it is used in the potion by the same name. The Wolfsbane potion is one used to inhibit the transformation of a werewolf, but most don’t realize that the name is not due to fighting the werewolf, but because it was created as a slow acting poison for werewolves. Aconite, even in tiny amounts, is very poisonous, and the ingredients that the werewolves believe neutralize that poisonous aspect, do not do enough to counteract the fact that the potion is forty five percent pure aconite. The Ministry forces werewolves to take these potions despite there being a safe alternative to keep the mental faculties of a werewolf intact as a way to cull the population. If one is close to a werewolf or a loved one is turned, they would be better off getting a Draught of Peace, as it calms the werewolf so long as it is taken the day of their transformation, and it is vastly cheaper to produce.”

The silence after his tirade on werewolves –Tom told him all about what that awful potion had done to Fenrir Greyback before he could flush it from his system- was nearly deafening, but Harry thought he saw the tiniest bit of respect glimmering in his Professor’s black eyes. The students also seemed gob smacked, and several concerned Hufflepuffs appeared to be ready to send a letter home to their parents on the off chance that they knew a werewolf. Hermione and Neville, though? Their eyes just shone with pride.

Defense was the class that Harry was most excited for, however. After all, he fully intended to get the attention of Voldemort after class was dismissed –it is the last period of the day after all- and talk through helping him out.

The stuttering of Quirrell was absolutely infuriating. Harry knew that it was a cover, one to hide the Dark Lord and his domineering presence, but for a Slytherin, it was entirely too obvious a mask. It would be one thing to make him slightly more jumpy than he had been, but a Muggle Studies teacher going from competent, if boring, to not being able to speak a full sentence without stuttering his way through half of it? It was too false and too obvious, and Harry hoped that it was only because of the insanity of the current Voldemort. His Tom was much smarter than that.

Harry silently signaled for Hermione and Neville to walk back to the dorms without him after class. They seemed to be a bit curious, but at his mouthed ‘later’ they nodded and left. “Is t-t-there a-anything y-you need Mr. P-Potter?” Harry casts a silent and wandless locking charm and privacy ward, noting the shocked look on Quirrell’s face.

“You can drop the stuttering act, Professor Quirrell. It’s a bit too obvious a change from last year’s behavior according to older Ravenclaws, even with the possibility of encountering vampires in Albania. You may want to dial it down if you actually want to keep the Dark Lord’s presence hidden.”

Quirrell goes pasty white, and Harry nearly lets himself snicker aloud. _“~Let me speak to him Quirinus. ~_ ” He shakily makes his way to his office and removes his turban, turning around to expose the face on the back of his head.

Harry decides to answer in parseltongue before Voldemort can continue, to keep their interaction as private as possible. “ _~Greetings, Lord Voldemort. I wished to inform you of a little… something you left behind that Hallows Eve night, so many years ago. ~”_ With both the parseltongue hissing and Harry obviously tracing his lightning bolt scar, Voldemort’s eyes widen in instant recognition.

“ _~It seems that we have much to discuss, Harry Potter. ~”_


End file.
